


Needle, Thread, and Cloth

by honey_wheeler



Series: The Threesome in the Reach [4]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: F/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-06-06
Updated: 2016-06-06
Packaged: 2018-07-12 15:37:09
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 404
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7111984
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/honey_wheeler/pseuds/honey_wheeler
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s fine embroidery. Perhaps a bit less delicate than that Willas usually sees in Highgarden, but the aesthetics of things are different in the North, and there’s something pleasingly bold and abstract in the golden rose stitched over the breast of the long nightshirt Willas holds. Jon is holding his own as if it might be a snake to bite him. He usually sleeps nude. Willas can’t contain his smirk.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Needle, Thread, and Cloth

**Author's Note:**

> Based on these [lovely](http://misshoneywheeler.tumblr.com/post/133693711007/moar-fluffy-headcanons-this-time-for-the) [headcanons](http://misshoneywheeler.tumblr.com/post/133696878087/gah-ok-sansa-embroiders-a-rose-on-willas).

Willas couldn’t say what the best part of all this is: the shy anticipation on Sansa’s face, or the chagrined resignation on Jon’s. Both quite overrule his distaste at the prospect of wearing a matching nightshirt like twin children.

“I’ve made each different, you see,” she’s explaining, holding out a handful of linen to each of them. “So you can tell them apart. So I can tell you apart,” she adds with a little laugh. “My lovely boys.”

It’s fine embroidery. Perhaps a bit less delicate than that Willas usually sees in Highgarden, but the aesthetics of things are different in the North, and there’s something pleasingly bold and abstract in the golden rose stitched over the breast of the long nightshirt Willas holds. Jon is holding his own as if it might be a snake to bite him. He usually sleeps nude. Willas can’t contain his smirk.

“That will look smashing on you, my friend,” he says cheerily, clapping Jon on the shoulder and then leaning to kiss Sansa’s forehead. “Is that a direwolf?” Jon only scowls in answer, and Willas can see him fighting back an epithet for him out of deference to Sansa. That’s nearly as good as the look on his face. Willas likes Jon quite a bit -- certainly, he’d have to like him to welcome him into his life and his marriage and his bed -- but that doesn’t make it any less satisfying to needle him from time to time. Few things are more amusing than watching Jon sulking like a kitten angry at having gotten a bath, yet unable to deny Sansa the slightest thing.

“Do you like it?” Sansa asks, looking up at Willas with her eagerness to please written heartbreakingly clear on her lovely face. He tips her chin up with the hand still holding his new nightshirt and kisses her, softly at first, but then with a purpose that leaves both of them slightly flushed and breathless.

When Willas answers, he’s thinking of her working on the nightshirts, bending over her embroidery hoop in feminine industry, of her happiness at making each one different while still marking each of them, both Willas and Jon, as hers. Of the thoroughly delightful irritation he’ll get to witness on Jon’s face each night as he dutifully dons his nightshirt and climbs into bed. “Sansa, my dearest heart,” he says with all sincerity, “I could hardly like anything better.”


End file.
